He didn't remember me - what a narcissist I am!

Lt Carl Robinson of the Upper Moreland Police Department is on the right. Photo from Patch.com.

The Emergency Preparedness Program was just finishing when I walked into the Upper Moreland Library to pick up some books.

A svelte portly police officer in a gorgeous pressed uniform was packing up with his corpulant companion.

"Can that be Lt. Robinson?" I remarked to librarian Cathy.

"I think so," she said.

I told her he was in the police station when I was picked up as I stood on the corner of Byberry and Masons Mill Road while having my first manic-psychotic episode.

Even tho I was outa my mind, the sane part of my brain knew who he was. His son Greg went to school with my son Dan.

I marched into the community room. On a table was part of the emergency preparedness kit. A shiny silver whistle was on the end.

"Hello, Lt. Robinson," I said. "Dyou remember me?"

"No, I don't," he said. "But I know you're gonna tell me."

Well, I certainly wasn't gonna say that back in 1984, when I was 38 years old, one of his officers drove me to Norristown State Hospital, for a mandatory three-day stay. The beginning of my 20 years of having bipolar disorder.

My sister Donna, who accompanied me to the police station, told me I was cussing like a truck driver.

Who, me?

Robinson and I talked awhile. He's the longest-serving officer in the history of Upper Moreland. Forty-five years. We use the word 'officer' in front of them, but behind their backs we call them cops. 

"What are the worst crimes committed in the township?" I asked.

"We have all the crimes everyone else does - burglary, robbery, rape, murder - but on a smaller scale," he said.

"Have you ever killed anyone?" I asked.

"Who, me personally?"

"Yes," I said.

"No one in our department has ever killed anyone."

I've often envisioned a Theme Park where you experience various means of death. For example, What would it feel like to get hit by a bullet?

You might have to sign a release form. You'd go into a little room and you'd hear the popping sounds of bullets which would scare the living daylights out of you. 

In the room where you'd be hanged, you'd be blindfolded and a noose would be placed around your neck.

Quick! Change the subject. Think of something pleasant.